


Lie Number One

by bubblygoo



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-29
Updated: 2014-07-29
Packaged: 2018-02-10 21:38:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2041158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bubblygoo/pseuds/bubblygoo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jongdae doesn't actually hate Chinese.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lie Number One

Lie number one: Jongdae hates Chinese.

It’s a pretty cool language. He likes learning it, actually, even if he’s not that good at it. His teacher says he’s a mediocre student in the best of ways, and Jongdae’s okay with that. He’s better than Xiumin, at least, so he can trade Chinese tips for dancing lessons (“Tilt your head a little and it looks like a horse”).

He learned to like singing it, too. That was an uphill battle though, no lie. Watching and listening to Kyungsoo and Baekhyun sing and wondering if it were him instead-- damn. He learned the hard way that envy is the shortest road to shame, so he learned to just watch and listen, then turn back to his lyrics sheet with scribbles in the margin in five different hands of writing with tips that still don’t make much sense to him, but he still reads them every time he messes up. Chinese was his step-kid, the kid who didn’t do anything wrong, so he learned to like it. To love it.

So if Jongdae ever says that he hates Chinese, it’s a lie. But sometimes, when he’s frustrated and tired and trying to sing next to the most popular member of Exo who’s fluent in Korean and Chinese and tall and gorgeous, he hates it just a little. Maybe a lot. 

And Jongdae, when he’s angry, doesn’t shout. He’s not a loud, dumb sort of angry. He’s the worst kind, the kind that gets smart and sharp-toothed, too quick-witted for his own good and all too willing to hurt the last person who deserves it.

Luhan, who’s entirely patient and generous with praise, who looks at him with unconcealed admiration and who offers to help Jongdae with some of the trickier phrases, gets to see Jongdae at his worst, and subsequently refuses to see him at all for a good spell of time. For the last hour, Luhan has been behind a door, probably with his headphones plugged in and thinking of many creative and awesome ways to kill Jongdae and dispose of the body.

Jongdae tells this to Minsoek, who texts back, Idiot, he’s probably moping just like you are. Buy him food and beg for his forgiveness.

So for the past five minutes, Jongdae has been standing outside of the door, one hand clutching a bag of contraband, the other frozen in position just about to knock. His brain, which had been so eager to dig him into a deep hole, was failing to think of a good “beg for forgiveness” speech. Figures. But then Jongdae thinks, that’s probably a good thing, and takes a deep breath.

“Luhan. I’m a moron. Okay? I’m sorry. Come on.” There’s a stretch of silence that Jongdae swears sounds sad. Fucking Luhan. Fucking Jongdae. “You were right, I was just—we’re all tired, and I shouldn’t have lost it with you like that. You’re giving me good advice, and I threw it back in your face because I hate feeling like I’m dragging you down. I know it’s stupid. I took a walk and I wrote it all down though, and it really helped. So… yeah, you want to, you know, rehearse and stuff? Or. You know. Acknowledge my existence again. Or we can just rehearse and work on the other thing later.”

Jongdae thinks about just eating the entire bag of weight gain and regret by himself out of spite and maybe a little heartbreak when he feels gentle pressure on his forehead. He leaps back like an idiot and grins like one, too, when Luhan pokes his head out.

“You,” he says in his infuriating perfect Korean with his gentle accent, “are a fucking drama queen. Are those buns?” He takes them and disappears for a second back into his room before closing the door. Jongdae pouts a little before Luhan reminds him with a flat stare that he is still in trouble.

He swallows before choosing his words carefully. “I really did write it down.” He shows Luhan the lyrics sheet, not that he’d need it, because an hour of hurt silence from Luhan was more than enough for him to memorize the lyrics. Not that he was going to say that.

He feels a little thrill when Luhan’s eyes light up just slightly because he curbs his expression again. “You wrote it in Chinese.”

“You were speaking in Chinese.”

“I was swearing in Chinese.”

“That’s my favorite kind of Chinese.”

Luhan’s eyes went off again, and Jongdae can’t help his smile or the pounding of his heart.

“You’re a dumbass.”

“I know.”

“Minsoek says you were moping.”

“I was not.” Traitor. “I was…” Luhan gives him another look, one that says, here’s your chance. “I was miserable.” And nothing works like the truth.

“Let’s go sing,” Luhan says, leading the way.

“Are you going to share those buns?”

“Nope.”

But that’s another lie.


End file.
